A Taste for Vanilla
by Fiery Wordess
Summary: Henrietta Wilson, just like the rest of 'em.
1. Default Chapter

A short, tubby man wielded a knife threateningly in his left hand as he advanced on a fragile old woman.  Then she screamed.  The man laughed cruelly and lightning cracked somewhere in the distance.  The woman fell over, dead of a heart attack.

"O poop."  The man mumbled, three chins wobbling.  "He kneeled next to the woman and checked half-heartedly for a pulse.  "Guess I've learned my lesson about attacking old people.  Anyway."  The pudgy man stabbed her lifeless carcass to a bloody pulp, smiling inwardly at his sadistic urges… finally fulfilled.

                                                                  *****

32-year-old Henrietta Wilson walked down 24 ½ Street with her finger lodged firmly up her nose.  She was unaware of the stares that were directed at her.  It wasn't exactly her spectacular beauty that was drawing glances or even her scraping at her nose's innards.

It was her choice in clothing.

She donned a neon green and pink pantsuit with her silk underwear on the outside.  The combination made her feel like a superhero and she rather liked that new confidence.  

"God dammit!"  She cursed loudly. 

"What's wrong?  Asked a man, transfixed on her purple butt.

"I have this sharp booger poking in my nostril but I just can't get it!"  

The man nodded his handsome head in sympathy.  "I understand.  Would you like to go to lunch with me?"

She paused, thinking carefully.  She, like a bunch of my characters, was married to the apparent murderer, or at least in some weird sort of love.  But I am the Queen of Suspense, you will never guess.  Toddy was her love interest, but he was on a business trip.  

"Hell, why not?"  Then she popped her finger out of her nose and cheered triumphantly.  "Aha!  I got it!  Look!"  

"This calls for a drink!"  He said.  

She popped the booger in her mouth and began to chew.

"More crunchy than I thought.  But salt makes me thirsty."

"Perfect.  My name is Edward Preston Doodly III."

"Oh, spanky.  My name is-."

"Henrietta Wilson, I know."

"Wow, how?"

He pointed to her chest.  "Your name tag."

She smiled, struck by how clever this man was.  But suddenly she frowned deeply.

"What's wrong?"  

"Booger's caught in my molar."

"You're really having a rough day there, Hen."

"You're telling me."  She was deeply touched by the nickname.

They went to a fancy restaurant called Konstantine's Kraphole.  Once inside they were seated by a waitress who constantly chewed her gum like a cow and snapped it consistent with her fifth step.  They ordered a fancy white wine called Chablis.

"So, I'm a big, rich lawyer.  What do you do?"  Edward leaned forward.

"I don't have to work thanks to my enormous inheritance, but I'm a bus driver and a pole dancer."  

"Where did you go to college?"  He was enraptured by her amazing poo-colored eyes, pug-nose, unibrow and jutting chin.  Her wispy grayish-blonde hair was pulled back in a bun, making it look thinner than ever.  Her beauty and amazing intelligence just astonished him.

"Sam Houston Institute of Technology, but I had to dance for the board."  She said, taking the Chablis and dumping it into her mouth.  She swished it around, gargled, and swallowed.

"So, you have a wonderful name.  Was your father Henry Wilson?"

"No.  His name was Henriettao Plopshnocker."  

"Are you single?"  He asked.

"No, but I'm perfectly willing to cheat on my husband and then dump you saying it was all a stupid mistake and that I was drunk all along."

"Great!  What's your phone number?"

She hiccupped.  "I forget, but I have to go.  I'm late for an interview at Hooters.  See you."  And she ran out the door.  On her way to Hooters she saw a mangled corpse lying in the street with a short, tubby man standing menacingly over it.

"Toddy?"

"Um… no, I'm his evil twin… Wallace."

"Oh, okay.  Since you're my brother-in-law, I'll let you run away while I ponder the horrific thing you have done."  

"Thanks, I owe you one Henri."

"That's what Toddy calls me."

"Clever of him.  Got to run.  Bye."  And he huffed and puffed away.

Henrietta surveyed the dead body lying in the street.  It was the second murder she had seen that was done like this.  She had found her great-aunt's body dead like this as well.  She didn't recognize the man lying there, motionless and bloody.

"Oh well, sucks to be him.  Now where is my damned cell phone?"  She pulled it out of her underwear.  "Aha.  What's the emergency number?  I can't remember… 9- nine something."  After thinking hard for a few moments she remembered.  "9-1-1!  Got it!"  And she dialed the number, though hardly remembering why.  She just knew she had to do it.  And do it she would.


	2. End

"Ma'am, how was it you came across this body?"  

"I was walking by here."

"Why?"

"That's none of your business."  Henrietta said defensively.

"Whatever you say, ma'am."  Officer Bumbolie said, writing on his notepad.  "What did you say the killer looked like?"

"He was short and fat.  He looked exactly like my husband."

"But it wasn't your husband?"  

"No.  It was his twin brother Wallace."

"Your husband has a twin?"

"I guess so.  Though I suspect the man was lying."  Henrietta said, plucking out a wedgie.

Officer Bumbolie was struck at this woman's good fortune.  Not only was she gorgeous but she was extremely intelligent.  Just like ever one of my protagonists are.  She was all-loved.  Blah, blah, blah.  About five more people fall in love with her, only three don't like her and they're suspects.

Okay, I'm going to cut this short because I'm getting sick of my formulas. 

Henrietta suspects a tall-muscular bus-driver, a tall-muscular lawyer, and a tall-muscular waiter.  She tells the police who quite agree with her.  The three men deny their guilt as they are shoved into prison, even though all evidence points to them. 

Actually, if you read my book carefully, you will notice that the evidence was not pointing to them at all.  In fact, my protagonist was just picking up the clues that the real murderer lay down.

A few weeks later….

"Toddy?"  Henrietta whispered into the darkness.

"GOTCHA!"  The short, flabby man pinned Henrietta down and laughed manically.

"Kinky."  She said.

"No.  I am the killer."

"Why?"  She began to sob.  "I was so sure it was those three very muscular guys!"

"I am a sick, sick man, Henri.  Now you must die.  But first, a long-winded explanation."

"Oh no, I'll die of boredom."  She whined, as Toddy pressed a knife to her throat.

"I told you that I'm a sick man."

"You are."

"Well first…."

"HALT!  We have you surrounded!"  

"Edward?"  Henrietta couldn't believe her ears.  Her new lover had come to rescue her.

"Agent Eddie."  He marched into their house, thrusting his badge forward.  "We know you're the killer now, you're responsible for the deaths of seventeen old ladies and a plane crash."

"A plane crash?  No I'm not."  Toddy backed off.  

"Oh yes you are!"

"No way, when that plane crashed I was killing number seventeen."

"I don't care.  You're still going to jail."

So Toddy went to jail.

"This isn't the last of me!"

"Yes it is, you dingaling!"  Henrietta said.  "Oh God, I'm devastated.  I accused three men wrongly.  Oh Edward, thank you for saving my life."

"Let's get some ice cream, shall we?"

"Yes."

They got to the ice cream parlor.  

"I've never tried this white stuff before."  She said, coquettishly.

"It's called vanilla."  Edward cooed.

"I think I like vanilla."      


	3. Note and Reviews

Praise for "A Taste for Vanilla"

"I couldn't put it down, but that's because it was on my computer." 

~Meghan Mortinsen, Talk Show Hostess 

"I prefer chocolate, thanks." 

                                                      ~Kathryn Slate, Author

"I wish I were a superhero."

                                                      ~C. Ara Smith, Author

"I like vanilla too!"

                                                      ~Meagan Gosling, Singer

"Once again, Mary Higgins Clark astounds us with her brilliance with character development and tasteful pantsuits.  I never would have guessed that… well, a certain someone was the killer.  She's so crafty!"

                                                      ~LuAnn Bloom, Editor 

(Note from Fiery Wordess: Yes, this totally sucked.  I lost motivation but it haaaaad to happen!  If you've ever read a MHC book, you'll notice that all of her protagonists are the same: perfect.  And they all wear tasteful pantsuits.  Dear God… no more.  And I always know who the bad guy is from the moment the killing occurs, or whenever you meet him. I apologize to all of you who feel offended.  Though I'm actually laughing at you for taking this too seriously.  Thanks to everyone who helped this… thing… get on to Fan Fiction!  WOOHOO!)  


End file.
